


Come Into My Parlor

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: atlantis_lvw, Gen, M/M, Mild Drugs, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Possibly Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-31
Updated: 2006-10-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:24:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3650223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John's not in his cell, Rodney's annoyed, and breakfast is late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Into My Parlor

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the seventh round of the Last Visible Writer game, prompt 'Playing Games'. Thank you to zoe rayne and sherrold for doing the beta.

Filtered sunlight washed through the barred windows, warming the room slightly. Rodney lifted his head wearily off of his knees, his arms wrapped around his legs. He guessed that he must have dozed, but the cell across from him was still empty. 

Tony, their jailer, must have noticed the movement. "Not long," he said calmly. "Questioner sends everyone home at dawn." 

"Brilliant. Beautiful," Rodney muttered, pushing himself up stiffly. "Nice to know that a torturer is concerned with pain/homelife balance." 

Tony's forehead furrowed, making him look like Cro-Magnon man. "It's not like that." Vocabulary exhausted, he shrugged, and Rodney could hear the keys on his belt jingle. Once they were back in Atlantis, Rodney was going to spend an afternoon or two learning how to pick rusty locks. 

The battered radio crackled on Tony's desk, requesting that that the front door be opened. Two more guards entered, half-dragging John between them. He didn't look too bad, Rodney thought. No visible broken bones or blood, but from the way John's head was lolling around, he was pretty out of it. 

They headed for John's cell, but Tony shook his head. "This one," he muttered, opening the door to Rodney's cell. 

Rodney stood back as they dropped John off in the middle of the floor and clanged their way out of the building again. The moment that Tony re-locked the cell, Rodney was on the floor, running his hands over John to make sure he was okay. 

John blinked wearily up at him. "Rodney. Cool." He pursed his lips. "4733. Is that prime or not prime?" 

"Oh dear god." Rodney rubbed his hand over his face. "Radek should never have taught you that game." He patted John on the shoulder. "At least everything else looks in place." 

"Not so bad," John agreed, laying his hand on Rodney's knee. "Though my mouth tastes like Swiss cheese." He licked his lips and rolled to his side. "Swiss cheese sounds really good, too." He stood, only a little wobbly, and waved at Tony. "Got any cheese?" 

"Nope." Tony hooked his thumbs into his uniform pants. "Got some pretty good fried bread, though." 

"With the berry stuff?" 

Tony shook his head no. "Just salt." 

"Ohh, salt." John made some pornographic noises. 

"Get the drugged man some breakfast," Rodney snapped. "Or are you two going to stand around and play parlor games all morning?" 

Tony blinked at him. "What's a parlor?" 

"It's a room where visitors to your home sit around and are entertained, someplace comfortable and completely unlike this cell. Where you serve them, oh, breakfast." 

"I ain't got no parlor. But I got a bunk," Tony said proudly gesturing at the pallet across the room. 

"Cool! I have a bunk." John said, smiling. "And Rodney. He has my bunk, too." 

"Yes, yes, we all have bunks. But we," Rodney gestured at John and himself, "don't have any breakfast." 

Tony lumbered off, while John sank back against Rodney. 

"Think he's got any cheese?" 

Rodney sighed. 


End file.
